


With Hope

by heartsblade



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes, Fire Emblem Series
Genre: M/M, Pining, Romance, Slow Build, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-10-11 21:30:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17454659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heartsblade/pseuds/heartsblade
Summary: What was he to do? Stand before him and pour his heart out like a canary and expect everything to fall into place?





	1. Support C

**Author's Note:**

> In which Chrom seeks council for his growing feelings for Ike and tries to come to terms with them! Big love for this rarepair/crackship heehee

_What was he to do? Stand before him and pour his heart out like a canary and expect everything to fall into place?_

“If I may intercede, milord, I do believe it is better than doing nothing.”

Chrom startles from where he paces and knocks over a vase, and before it fell and shattered to pieces on the floor, he caught it, though just barely. Specks of dirt rained down from where the vase had tipped and lightly dusted the stone floors where he stood; he grumbles all the while he sets it right. He can hardly bring himself to look at Frederick, the one whose voice nearly sent him into a flight.

“My apologies, sire. You are aware of the fact you oft speak aloud amongst yourself, yes?”

“Yes, Fredrick, I am. Can I help you?”

“That is the question I came to impose upon you, to see if you are in need of my services.” Frederick stands with his wrists crossed behind the small of his back, his armour-bare chest within Chrom’s peripheral, and the prince had yet to realize he’s spent more than enough time fiddling with the leaves of the plant; nerves are a factor to be blamed and to be accounted for with his unusual antics, and this seems to be something Frederick understands, though it remains to be unspoken and seemingly unacknowledged by either man. When Chrom takes to fiddling with the position of the vase, the knight stands closer and gently brushes his liege’s hands away to centre the piece perfectly in less time it took for Chrom to pull away; the gesture merely adds to his surmounting embarrassment, one second at a time.

“Thank you, Frederick. And yes, I do think I could… use your input on something. If you don’t mind, that is.”

“Never, milord. Tell me of your troubles, and I will do all that I can to set them right.”

“Your enthusiasm is greatly appreciated, my friend.” Standing aside, he gestures for the other to take a seat on his bed, and Frederick stands until Chrom relinquishes himself of a long-held sigh and makes the first move so that his friend may follow. The silence between them is long and comfortable, and Frederick merely waits for Chrom to speak at his own pace; the man could and surely would wait forever if that’s what it took for his lord to open up. Finally, the prince sighs, and he falls onto his back with a groan, his hands balled into fists over his eyes. “I can’t do it, Frederick. Hand me a sword and send me off to battle with only the shirt on my back as my armour and I’d fare better than… than…”

“Confronting your feelings?” Frederick offers, shifting so that he can face Chrom as best as he can in his position; his only affirmative is another sound of anguish, and he curls a finger over his chin in thought. “I see. May I be so bold as to a--”

“Ike.”

“Hmm.”

“The mercenary?”

“I’m well aware of who you speak of, milord.” While he speaks, Chrom heaves himself into a sitting position, and he looks to his companion with bewilderment and excitement he hasn’t seen since they were young, the sort of look that overcame his lord when he felt so passionately and strongly for something.

“Well? Have you an opinion about him? Is he worthy of your regard?”

“I have observed his way with a sword,” Frederick says slowly, his eyes drifting momentarily to the table with the vase, “and I have seen him perform satisfactorily in battle.”

“Satisfactorily for what?” He pries, reaching out to pull a pillow close to his chest to rest his chin on, his eyes wide with anticipation, and the image of it all brings a gentle smile to Frederick’s face when he turns to him once more. 

“For my standards in swordsmanship. To be at your aid when I am unable to speaks louder than his words ever could, I daresay; with how little he says to begin with, it counts for a lot,” he responds, and something gives in Chrom and allows him to sag with relief.

“So he has your sign of approval, then?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I mean,” Chrom shifts, and he returns to that unsettled look Frederick was met with upon entry of his lord’s chambers, “not that I should actively seek your approval for our match, I just…”

“Regardless of what I should think of Ike, I know this much is clear to me, and that is your feelings for him.”

“I, well,” the prince stammers over his words, and starts to gesticulate wildly with his hands as if he placed all hope and faith in them to convey all the things he struggled to speak into existence, even to his longtime friend, “I… admire him as a person. I just can’t tell him outright, you see…”

“And why is that, sire?”

“I don’t know!”

“May I offer some insight?”

“Gods, please do; that’s why I invited you to sit with me.”

“I think you ought to spend more time with this person to sort through the layers, in a manner of speaking.”

“Layers? Like… an onion?”

“Of attraction, milord; and yes, I… suppose that’ll suffice. Why do you feel for him as you do?”

“Why? Gods, what’s there not to appreciate? The man is gifted in all the ways a man can be.” Chrom settles onto his back, the pillow held close to his chest. “He’s kindhearted, and I should think his heart is too kind; he knows and shows a mercy better than I ever could, even if I were to succeed my sister and become exalt. He fights not because he desires it, though because circumstances mandate it. He would sooner lay his blade than raise it if he had a choice.”

“And of his… relationship circumstances?”

“What about them?”

“T’would not be wise for you to fall for someone promised to another.”

“I… have thought of tha _t_ ,” the _t_ is emphasized sharply, as if he absorbed a shot in the gut mid-sentence, “and I have observed his tactician at his side. Though I endeavour to think it is possible for one to… to have similar misconceptions of myself and our tactician.”

“Be that as it may,” his friend begins, his hands coming to fold over his knee. “Be that as it may,” he repeats, “you ought to know him beyond his way with a blade. What have you learned of him aside from his skill?”

“Ah…”

“I see.”

“I-I’m just drawing blanks right now, Frederick-- I’m sure I know more than I care to let on in my state!”

“Oh, but who am I to deem it otherwise? This is merely my input, as you’ve requested of me.”

“Yes, and I thank you graciously for it, my friend. Now come, let us make our way to the mess hall. A swordsman is useless on the battlefield or otherwise on an empty stomach. All this talk of feelings and whatnot gave me a great appetite.” In other words, Chrom did not have any desire to see the conversation forward, and Frederick knew better than to press it further. His goal here is to help him find his happiness, not to get in the way of achieving it, even by means of something so mediocre as to further poke and prod at something his lord had no intentions of disclosing beyond his means of comfort.

“I must agree, milord. However, before we depart…”

“Yes?”

“Do keep in mind the suggestion I offered. It may be of some use to you in the near future, yes?”

“Right you are, Frederick. Let us speak no more of it.”

Their journey to the mess hall is quiet and seen through with little fanfare with regards to the issues that currently pressed Chrom into a state of unease. From the moment he stepped foot between the rows and rows of tables, he felt his eyes wander and search for someone without truly meaning to, and this sort of distraction had to be rectified on multiple accounts with Frederick gently  
moving him away from pillars and other heroes as they moved. The dazed look in Chrom’s eye had more to do with his inner turmoil than it did for the sake of being clumsy; to see his lord so helplessly in love was almost endearing, if it weren’t required of him to see to the preservation of his lord’s dignity with every gentle push and shove he gives in the right way, both literally and figuratively.

“You must be more aware of your surroundings, milord.”

“Hmm? I’m fine. See? Totally fine.”

“That is because you stopped moving, sire.” Frederick points out with a stern slant in his mouth that matched the slant of his brows. The disconcerted look is easily dismissed with a wave of his hand; Frederick wouldn’t understand where he’s coming from, anyway. He highly doubts the man has made time for himself in his erroneously Chrom-centred schedule to find a first true love besides starting fires and being of every possible service to his liege, however useless some of those services may be. He sighs.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

The suddenness of an all-too familiar voice gives cause for Chrom to startle, much to his chagrin; he bumps into Frederick, whose arms extend faster than his lord has time to blink to steady him and counter further embarrassment. His face flushes warmly, and he takes to fiddling with the ends of his shirt to ground himself. His gaze pointedly avoids the one fixated on his own; were Ike’s eyes always that blue, or perhaps they shone brighter beneath the pool of sunlight gathered around them by the window they stand?

Not that he cared; they’re startlingly nice, he supposes, under certain light. There’s nothing wrong with noticing the little things.

“I could say the same of you, my friend.” _My dearest, dearest friend._ “What brings you here?” A second is all it takes for the pieces to connect in Chrom’s head, and he winces at the realization of his mistake. He all but stomps on Frederick’s foot with how visibly taken aback he is by his own idiocy. “I suppose the answer is painstakingly obvious, please ignore that…”

“It’s fine.”

His smile, the one Chrom obsesses over without honestly meaning to, remains as warm and unfazed as ever, and for that, the prince is grateful for how immovable he is in that regard. If anything, and perhaps Chrom is reading too far into this, he appears to be endeared by it, and the thought alone makes the red dappling his cheeks darken a smidgeon. 

“Care to join me in line?”

“That hardly seems fair to those behind us.”

“Then I’ll join you in the back of the line.”

“That’s not necessary.” A small sound of laughter emerges from Ike, something kind and gentle, and to think of Ike as gentle is odd given what he’s seen the man capable of doing on the battlefield, and yet it is the only word that comes to mind when he interacts with the mercenary. “I appreciate the offer all the same. Would you be up for a little sparring afterwards?”

“My sincerest apologies for the interruption, General Ike,” Frederick’s deep baritone clips through the beginning of Chrom’s response, and it takes some effort to maintain some semblance of neutral composure when he meets the eye of his knight, “Though I had best be going to tend to some of my other duties. You may take my spot next to milord, if you please.”

“Oh, that’s not--” Before the words are entirely out of his mouth, the knight bows and excuses himself, leaving both swordsmen in a state of disarray. It takes a few seconds for Ike to fully process what he just heard, and he awkwardly sidesteps into what had been formerly Frederick’s space next to Chrom so that he can stay out of the way of passing heroes taking or returning to their seats. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“Come now, would I have offered to join you in the back had I minded? And to answer your previous question: I would be honoured to spar with you.”

“Honoured?”

“You’re not just some ordinary mercenary where I’m from, friend. You’re a legend.”

“I’m not anything special,” The taller man huffs and shifts his weight from one leg to the other, his arms raising to cross his chest, “I’m just me. I do what needs to be done, that’s all.”

“You’re unaware of your own strengths, I see,” Chrom muses, “And of humble standing, too. It’s admirable.”

“I need to get stronger. I’m useless if I can’t pull my own weight.”

“You’re hailed as the strongest hero to have ever lived, Ike. Where I’m from, not one person remains ignorant of what you’ve accomplished across Tellius, let alone what the legends say of your deeds in lands that lie beyond the borders of your homeland. You’re more than you give credit for. I grew up aspiring to become as strong and fearsome a warrior as you, and as kind and benevolent of a leader, too.” The admission is said clearly and concisely, and that’s not to say how natural and easily it slipped from his mouth as if he had any intentions of laying out these truths for him to hear. The silence that follows is long and drawn out, and all the while he grabs his lunch and arranges it along his plate, Chrom flusters, and one might even think a fever has caught hold  
of him with how red his cheeks are and how shallow his breathing becomes with anticipation of the worst. His mouth had a habit of running away from him, and it often said things he wished remained as thoughts if only  
to spare himself the embarrassment of having said the wrong thing. It’s not until Ike fills his own plate and follows Chrom outside the castle walls (why did he go this way to begin with?) that he speaks, this time the prince can see clear as day the blush that taints his cheeks and dips below the collar of his tunic.

“You… looked up to me?”

“I had… other inspirations, too, just so we’re clear… I merely sought to follow in your footsteps to become a leader, a captain, worthy of the regard of his people. My forefather, Marth, became my inspiration of how I stay my blade, my sister became my patron of benevolence, and you…” How could he fill that gap? He felt heat rise along the column of his neck with shame of having divulged things he wouldn’t have remembered at any point in his life prior to this moment, and he feels that he has given too much of himself away, things he kept under lock and key in some hidden vault in his mind.

“I doubt I’ve any meaningful lessons to teach you now,” Ike says in a way that made Chrom want to silence him with a few choice words of his own, though stops short when he gazes into those eyes that disarm him without knowing the extent of the power they hold over him, “but I think there’s much for me to learn from you.”

“I can certainly show you a few things on how to break training dummies without someone noticing,” he chuckles, and it’s enough to lessen some of the severity he imposed between them, which fades further into obscurity when Ike parts with a laugh of his own.

“Look forward to learning, then.”

The light breeze he feels blow some of his hair back reminds Chrom of their surroundings, and he sees that they’ve taken refuge under a tree from the hot sun that protects them with its large, waving branches dense with leaves that fall and dance around them prettily. They make small talk and pick away at their plates until nothing remains, and when they take to silence and watch the clouds shift in the skies above, Chrom thinks of what Frederick imposed on him before; the layers of attraction, or something akin to that.

He thinks of the first layer, and the first layer is Ike’s physical appearance. There is no denying how physically attractive the swordsman is, and contrary to popular belief, his sharp angles and notable qualities were the things Chrom noticed much later. The way his eyes crinkle at the corners when he smiles, the way his mouth pulls into something gentle and soft when he finds something amusing… these are the things that Chrom sees easily when Ike falls under the tutelage of his gaze, much like he does now.

“Ready to spar?” He asks, turning to meet the prince’s gaze that internally appraised him for all the charms he unwittingly exudes, and Chrom battles the fluster threatening to overcome him once more at being caught in the act of staring intensely. He nods, and before he can offer to take their dishes back, Ike’s already reaching for his on his lap the same time Chrom does, and their fingers brush for the briefest of moments that sends its owner into a fit. 

“Certainly, if you are.” He manages, and he doesn’t realize until much later, when they’re headed towards the tower, that Ike hasn’t so much as spared him a glance since they departed from their resting area. Something tells him the way the swordsman is flushed like he was when Chrom poured his heart out has something to do with it.


	2. Support B

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Of all the things Ike had the pleasure of taking away from their sparring session, the only thing that really stuck with him is how to tastefully cover up any property damage he may cause in the future. It is odd, sure, but he couldn’t resist paying special attention to it, especially since Chrom had been so excited to bequeath that knowledge onto him, and who is he to deny a man his moment of elation, however nonsensical it may be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> god soren and frederick really are dying inside huh. anyway the next chapter will be less slow and boring i promise!!!

Of all the things Ike had the pleasure of taking away from their sparring session, the only thing that really stuck with him is how to tastefully cover up any property damage he may cause in the future. It is odd, sure, but he couldn’t resist paying special attention to it, especially since Chrom had been so excited to bequeath that knowledge onto him, and who is he to deny a man his moment of elation, however nonsensical it may be?

Well, there’s that, and some open wounds that hadn’t been there before. Along the inside of his left wrist and the uppermost part of his right shoulder, red-seamed lacerations decorate the exposed skin. The wounds were in dire need of being tended to, and that’s why he sits opposite of his sparring partner, who sports similar injuries inflicted by Ike during training. Both men look up at the exact same time and exchange timid smiles; they mirror one another as if they were boys once more, wild and reckless and waiting for the imminent tongue lashing that is bound to be unleashed upon them for their insolence and carelessness. It almost entices a laugh.

“Just what have you done to Lord Chrom?!” Maribelle’s voice chirps in from somewhere beside the younger swordsman, who dips his head with shame (and to hide his smile) when the healer carries on about how uncivilized their conduct toward one another had been. “If I’d not known any better, I’d say you were trying to kill one another!”

“Accidents happen, Maribelle,” Chrom says, his voice a poor imitation of someone attempting to stifle his amusement, “And in our case, we made a few. At least we know not to repeat them, yes?”

“By the Gods, I hope not. And you,” She refocuses her attention to Ike, who feels himself stiffen from head to toe, and loathe he may be to admit it, he found himself straightening into a rigid position. “Do be careful where you swing that thing! You put one mark on milord’s face and… I simply cannot fathom what fate lies ahead for you!”

“She’s not always like this,” Chrom amends lowly once she’s out of earshot. “She worries a great deal for us equally… she’ll never voice it, that’s all.”

“Noted,” he responds around a smile, and instinctively straightens his posture once more when she returns. For all her sharpness of tongue, she is truly kind and tender in how she tends to their wounds. Ike begins to see some merit to what Chrom said of her, and some small part of him swells with pride at knowing the prince takes time to know each and every one of his subjects personally. It says a lot for a leader, and it speaks even louder for someone next in line to be a ruler. Chrom responds in kind with a smile of his own, the sort of smile that touches the corners of his eyes, the sort of look he’s certain he’d move mountains for if it meant he’d see it once, twice, thrice more. And hopefully, he amends to himself, it’ll be something he wakes up to in the early hours of the morning, and the last thing to see before he falls into a slumber.

Yeah. _Right._

“That should do it. Do be more careful, milord… I shudder to think anything more severe to befall you." Maribelle gently fastens the bandage over his shoulder with a metal clasp, and runs her fingers over it for good measure to make sure it’s secure and not at risk of coming undone with the slightest movement. “I hope you two aren’t planning to train anymore for the rest of the day?”

“No, I think we’re good.” Chrom says with a roll of his shoulder. “Mm, yeah, we’re done for the day.”

“Are you in need of any further service, milord?”

“Just Chrom is fine, Maribelle. And no, thank you, for all you’ve done for us. We’d best find something better to occupy our time, if only to spare you some peace.”

“Well thought, Chrom. Do call upon me if there is anything more I can do. And you,” Maribelle turns to pin Ike with a serious gaze, the sort that you would see in the eye of a mother on the verge of a very thorough tongue-lashing that should warrant no further misconduct from the other party, lest they face her wrath. “The same to you, and you’d do well not to encourage him for his own good.”

“I would, and I shall. You have my word.”

All he receives in return is a curt nod, and within the next moment, she leaves them to their own company. The prince sighs heavily and allows his body to sag against the stone wall as if her absence stole away his will to maintain a proper posture. “I’m glad that’s over with.”

“She cares a great deal for you,” Ike remarks, allowing a similar sigh of equal weight to fall from his own lips. “I can respect that.”

“She cares for you in her own way too, you know.”

“I care for all my allies to see to it that they see the sun rise once more. It is an honour, and a privilege, to have it returned.”

“Spoken like a true warrior,” Chrom says, his voice lifting just so at the end as he slides off the chair with some effort to make his way to his companion and steal a seat beside him. “And honoured like a hero.”

“You think so?” 

Ike nearly winces at the look he sees roll over Chrom like storm clouds, and just as severe as a disaster. It is brief, and it is slight, and though Ike thought for the slightest moment that he imagined it, he sees something completely replace that dark look in the next; he thinks it’s adoration, with how intense Chrom’s eyes become in their sharpness. The brief spell of cold thaws with the warmth in his eyes, and the younger swordsman thinks he can melt into it all the same. 

“I know so,” he whispers. Their proximity to one another gives weight to his words, gives them a sort of intimacy he desperately wishes truly presented itself rather than something he wants so badly to be true that he imagines it to be his reality. 

“I’ve a ways to go before I can see myself in that way, Chrom. I still have so much to learn. I wouldn’t be opposed to you overseeing that and watching me grow stronger so that I can become the hero this realm needs… so I can be the hero my realm needs.” _So I can be the hero you see in me._

Afterwards, they lapse into a comfortable silence, simply allowing themselves to enjoy the closeness and company of the other without much to be said. Truth be told, Chrom had a lot he wished to say, though he knew it would matter so little in the end. Ike truly is unaware of the power he wields, isn’t he? He doesn’t give himself enough credit, even with all Chrom has to say.

Regardless, it feels nice to be personally invited to be at one’s side through their journey. He can’t think of a sea he wouldn’t cross or a mountain he wouldn’t conquer if it meant to be with him, no matter the context. With this in mind, it truly is an awful time to realize just how close their hands are, how little distance existed between their fingertips. He is hyper aware of the warmth emanating from him, and he feels bold enough to close that space between them. 

Read: _feels._ He couldn’t bring himself to, and so he settles for what he is given. 

“Heh. With a task like that, who am I to say no? I would do anything for you, my friend. Though if you wish to stay here in this room any longer, well… I’d have to give it some thought.”

“Right. Let’s move,” he agrees, and he feels as if he’s begun to suffer a great loss when he sees Chrom’s fingers pull away to nurse his shoulder. 

“I don’t suppose you’ve any ideas of what we should do next?”

“Not at the moment. You?”

“It is quite late…”

“So it is,” Chrom muses, his gaze turning towards the sun just as it begins to lower over the horizon. “Might we part ways now and rejoice at a later time?”

“And dinner?”

“Oh, I… could always take it in my chambers.”

“Doesn’t sound like a bad idea.” Ike falls silent for a moment before he amends his statement with a small smile. “Not a bad idea to take care of that arm, either.”

“Right. Um… I’ll see you on the morrow, then.”

“Mm.”

How foolish would it be for Chrom to wish for something a little more meaningful than that for a response? He has to remind himself, as he makes his way to his chambers, that Ike isn’t the kind of man you should hold high expectations for with regards to communication skills; he says only what needs to be said, and he most likely figured Chrom would see it as anything but negative, especially with that lopsided grin and that gentle shoulder pat he gave as he passed.

The problem is that Chrom is known to be anything but a man of patience, a skill yet to be known to him and understood at this point in his life. His later years will see to it that he learns the importance of having patience; as of now, it holds little meaning, and very little understanding. He disappears into his chambers with a huff, the doors closing louder than intended. His shoulder suffers for his usage of unnecessary force.

“Oh, Frederick. How nice of you to join me.” He acknowledges the knight folding garments in a fastidious and diligent way that is wholly Frederick; a trait not to be observed in anybody but himself. “Staying busy, I wager?”

“Good evening, milord. I’ve received word of your injury, and told it were not but a mere flesh wound. I took it upon myself to prepare your sleepwear and bed so that milord will sleep soundly. I have also prepared some tea and acquired some oil, should you be in want of a light massage.”

“Heh. Of course you have,” he murmurs, half in response to his own inquiry and half to confirm that his knight would, as he always did, go above and beyond to ensure his comfort. “You have my thanks, Frederick, for spoiling me as you have, and will undoubtedly continue to do. I’ve everything covered here, take a load off for a bit. I might just retire early.”

“A good plan, sir. If I may?”

“Yes?”

By now, Chrom is making a valiant attempt to remove his clothing without agitating his wound. He gets insofar as to removing his shoes before Frederick gently bats his hands away and removes everything until he is in nothing but his smallclothes. Too long, too often has he found himself in this way that he no longer has the capacity to feel embarrassment of being so exposed to his old friend; he does, however, fight for his life to put on his own tunic and trousers for some autonomy and freewill that Frederick is dead set on suppressing, if given enough room to do so.

“Have you sorted your conundrum?” He finally asks after Chrom fastens his pants. The question startles Chrom into going completely still for a second, his hands still clutching the ends of his pant string part way through a loop.

“Ah, well… surely you mean have I learned anything of him?”

“Precisely.”

“Hah. I wouldn’t know where to begin,” Chrom’s laugh is edged and bitter, ridged like a serrated knife. The shift does not go unnoticed by his retainer, who fixes him with a questioning gaze. As of now, Chrom’s in the process of sliding his shirt on, which does require some effort from both of them so that he doesn’t screw up his shoulder attempting to do it alone. “I’ve learned that I’ve learned nothing at all, if that helps. When I think I’ve worked up the nerve, I… well, to be frank, I lose it. We spar, we converse, and yet I cannot find a time right enough for me to tell him the extent of my feelings.”

“I see.”

“I fear that I may not be as obvious as I think myself to be, Frederick. Or, perhaps, I have been too forward, and he is merely being courteous to my feelings.”

“That is merely speculation. You know just as well as I that he is a man of very few words.”

“I don’t know,” he sighs, disappearing between the covers that Frederick holds with one hand and gently lowers in the next moment. “I’m certain Kiran paired us for strategic purposes, and I will not allow anything to interfere with our chances of winning the war plaguing this realm. This I know for certain, if nothing else.”

“Be that as it may, sire, do not be so hasty as to forget that tomorrow is another day, and if you allow it to pass, so will your chance.”

“Heh. You’re right. How unlike me to lay down my sword without a fight, eh? I must try again and again until I get it right, with or without the outcome I desire most.”

“Now that’s what I like to hear.”

“At any rate… I believe it is time for me to retire for the evening,” Chrom interrupts himself with a yawn, just as Frederick gently shakes out his topmost blanket and lowers it over his form as it succumbs to the day’s exhaustion. “Many thanks again, for all you’ve done for me, Frederick. I’ll sort everything out soon…”

“Thanks are needless, milord. I am merely doing what my station mandates.”

“As a nanny?”

“As a knight.”

“Riiight.”

Their exchange ends with good nights and farewells, and unnecessary promises on Frederick’s behalf to check in every now and then on his patrol, something Chrom gives a half-hearted sound of acknowledgement to as he falls into a deep slumber.

Had he been a fly on a wall, though, he certainly would have heard a similar conversation take place between Ike and his closest friend Soren, who sat at the edge of Ike’s bed, book in hand, feigning distraction. He knows, just by reading his friend’s body language, that he had something to say, and now all he had to do was wait until it was spoken into existence between them.

The swordsman sighs, and Soren looks from the corner of his eye to see Ike facedown on the bed, his head towards his lap, his gaze boring into the ground with knitted brows and a look in his eye that would have seared holes through the stones if they could.

“Everything alright, Ike?”

“Mm.”

“Alright.”

He returns to his book, and gets three quarters through a page when he hears another sigh, though only slightly quieter than the one before. He can see Ike worrying his bottom lip with his teeth, and now his hands are gripping the pillow beneath him with a sort of frustration that had Soren fearing for the safety of the pillow now in danger of imploding beneath his friend’s hands.

“Ike.”

“Mm?”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Another sigh, and this time, Soren dog-ears his book and sets it off to the side. A moment passes, and Ike rolls onto his back so that he can look up at the tactician, his frustration clear as day on his youthful features.

“I…” He exhales, his hands coming up to clasp over his stomach where his tunic rides up from turning over. Soren waits patiently despite the irritation beginning to gnaw at the back of his head like a woodpecker worrying the bark of a tree. Ike bites his lip once more and releases with an audible pop. 

“You…?”

“Ah… it’s nothing.”

“‘Nothing’ gets you worked up like this, Ike. As your friend, you know you can tell me anything.”

“I know, it’s… it’s the ‘how’ of it…”

“‘How’?”

“People are dying, Soren.”

“... Yes? I feel like I’m missing a very vital piece of information here.”

“I mean,” Ike sits up and roughly pushes the pillow onto his knee with his fist, “This realm has a lot of issues here that I… that we have to make right. Yet, I… have these… thoughts… that tend to distract me. Thoughts about someone I fight with… and it leaves me feeling confused, and I have to remind myself that war is no time to have these… these thoughts, and these feelings…”

“I see. Someone has caught your fancy, I take it?”

“... And if that were true?”

“And if that were true, you’re a fool not to deal with it sooner. Allowing it to compromise you like this will solve nothing; have you tried confessing?”

“Confessing?! Gods, no!”

“No? What do you mean ‘no’?”

By now, Soren has mentally and physically prepared himself for a less than stellar response (or excuse, rather) that will surely induce a certain height of disbelief to convince Ike to tighten up and lay his feelings out for all to see. If nothing else, he’ll surely make himself and his feelings known to the person that holds his attention so arduously and fervently.

One can dream, anyway.

“It’s not that simple…”

“You’re right; it’s simpler than that.”

“It’s not!”

“Ike!”

“Look, forget it. It’s just not gonna happen,” the mercenary sighs and flops himself onto his back once more, hands releasing the pillow to grip at his hair with agitation. “I’m a fool to think anything would come of my feelings, anyway.”

“You’re playing fortune teller, Ike. You have no idea what the outcome is unless you try. At the very least, the two of you will know where you stand, and you can move forward from there.”

“What if I got it all wrong?”

“You already do by staying silent.”

“No, I mean,” he rolls onto his side, his hand shifting from the side of his head to frame the side of his face when he props himself up on his elbow, “he’s a really nice guy in general, so what if I’m reading his kindness as something more than it really is?”

“How do you know for certain?”

“I don’t.”

“There you go.”

“Soren, you’re making everything sound simpler than it really is. It’s easier said than done.”

“Look,” Soren runs a hand down his face with a heavy sigh, and he reaches for the pillow Ike abandoned in favour of his quilt to hold close to his chest. “Why… why don’t you tell me more about this person. What is he? A noble? A clergyman? … A manakete?”

“A prince.”

“And…?”

“And… his name is Chrom.”

“Ah.”

“Do you see my predicament now?”

“I can’t say I do, Ike, because I’m fairly certain he feels something for you just by the way he acts in your company.”

Alike a dog, Ike perks up at these words, his face becoming soft and warm with the blush creeping across the tan of his cheeks. “H-He does? I mean, you… you think?”

“Gods, you two are hopeless. Are you truly so blind to his advances?”

“Advances?!”

This must be a cruel joke.

“What’s that look for, Soren? ...Soren?”

“Goodnight, Ike.”

“Nonono wait, Soren! Soren, come back, I need you to… explain…” The words die in Ike’s throat as Soren shuts the door behind himself, though not without a gentle “see you tomorrow!” called over his shoulder with something Ike swears is amusement. As close to amusement as Soren can get, anyway-- and it’s not until he sees the clock ticking away at his bedside that he realizes he should have been asleep some time ago.

Knowing Soren like he did, he knew his sudden departure was a signal for him to use his critical thinking skills to assess his situation before he makes any rash decisions. He mulls over the fights he and Chrom fought side by side, and the times they spent together that didn’t involve crossing swords amongst themselves or enemies, as he blows out the bedside candle and settles in for the night. What could Soren mean by advances? In what ways had Chrom been forward, let alone expressed interest?

He recalls the incident from earlier in the day, when he and Chrom nearly touched hands, and he replays the look of utter disappointment crossing his features for a split second that left Ike feeling he’d imagined it to begin with. He thinks of how physically comfortable Chrom has become around him; be it standing side by side, throwing an arm out to push Ike behind himself, or pulling him close to avoid the oncoming attack of their enemy and taking longer than necessary to release him… there’s no doubting a connection there, a connection that falls into place like the last piece of a very strange and complex puzzle he wished desperately to solve itself. He may be so bold as to believe he cares for him in a way that goes beyond the boundaries of allies; could it be…?

“Just a friend,” he mumbles, his voice low and gravelly with exhaustion finally settling deep in his weary bones. Tomorrow will surely be another day for him to figure everything out, and with Soren’s words in mind, he’ll do well to pay attention to how Chrom acts around him.


End file.
